Bad Day
by Feather
Summary: Harry contemplates his feelings for Hermione, but when a perfect chance appears to show his emotions, will he seize it?


Bad Day

Author: Feather

Genre: Romance

Category: Harry Potter

Rating: PG

One-shot fic

Author's notes: I have several days off this week, three to be exact, so I just decided to let you all enjoy my lovely fanfiction *smiles*. Actually, I have been experimenting with my writing style of the late, and I am writing my first-ever Harry Potter fic, so excuse any OOC, please. **This is a Harry/Hermione fic.** If you just cannot deal with that, do not read this fic. I don't care for any particular Harry/Whoever pairing, and Hermione is just such a lovely character, I thought I'd include her. Thank you to all the intelligent people who can understand this. I may sound mean, but deal with it, k? Thanks ~Feather

He loved thunderstorms. He loved the intense apprehension that generated from the thick black clouds. The feeling of relief and rebirth, the world washed away in sorrow and then born anew, that was what he lived for. The heavy rain pounded down the windows, silent and somber and healing.

Harry walked slowly to his next class, History of Magic. That was one of the only rooms he could actually think in, and not be disturbed. He had long-since learned not to pay attention in such classes, though gentle chiding from Hermione made him at least take several notes and copy down their homework.

Hermione. What could he say about Hermione? She was his best friend, his comfort. Yet was she something more? No, she was never mine, never will be mine, he thought, mentally slapping himself.

She always had been in the arms of another, Viktor, Neville, even Ron for a short time. In their sixth year, Ron and Hermione had had a brief relationship, yet their friendship was put at jeopardy and they broke off with no hard feelings. Now, in their seventh year, the friendship had evolved and the threesome remained close, in a different sense.

As he walked to the Great Hall, he pondered his friendship with Ron and Hermione. They were his best friends, he had told them almost everything, and them the same. Almost everything. That one secret that Harry had kept for all the years canceled out the intimacy that the others might feel they shared with Harry. That secret of his awe for Hermione.

It wasn't her beauty or intelligence that struck him the way it might others. It was her trust that he was so readily attracted to. He could tell her the slightest thing and she would take him seriously for it. Not that she was a boring person, far from it; she just took things in a different way than most people. It was her observation and keenness to what was amiss, and the fact that even if she knew something was wrong, she would still let Harry alone about it.

And it wasn't only that, it was her beauty and intelligence too. Her soft flowing hair and sparkling dove-gray eyes were Harry's ideals of beauty. Her petite frame, though it looked far from strong, was surprisingly so, as Harry had found out the hard way when taking her for a whim in Quiddich. And the way she would teasingly smile her smooth pink lips and look over her shoulder, her hair falling out of place, her eyes mischievous, it left him breathless. And, and, and, he could list on eternity for all the reasons. 

The first time he had met her, she had shown extraordinary depths of intellect, intelligence, and wit. On the train to Hogwarts, naïve and unknowing in the ways of wizards, he had found that he was not the only wizard or half-wizard who knew nothing of his heritage's' ways.

Harry sighed inwardly. He was a fool, she was his best friend. He loved her, but not enough in the way to keep her happy. He loved her for selfish reasons, along for friendship. He knew Ron did too. But he was not entirely sure on how Hermione felt, and that one unknowing was enough to undo his elaborate fantasies of better times.

He reached the hall and sat in his usual place. All of his seniors from years passed had gone, so he was king of the hill, in a sense, and the rest of the seventh year. It was odd to see the first years, so young and pure. He wondered momentarily if he had ever been that way, when crossing the lake to get to the castle. Looking with wonder at the ceiling, hardly daring to believe in magic, that was how he had first came to this new wonderment and life.

Hermione passed Harry the potatoes, catching him off-guard. "Harry, did you get today's History of Magic homework down? I know that you were doodling, I saw you. And playing with one of those Weasly Brothers' Magic Joke wands." A hint of a smile played upon her lips, though she tried to fight it with her natural disapproval. Fred and George had opened their joke shop several years ago, largely surpassing their competition from sheer enjoyment of their work, and from knowing their customers from Hogwarts as well. They would be happy, as the years wore on.

He thanked her, and continued conversations as usual. This was no un-ordinary train of thought for Harry, though daily discomfits did distress these thoughts of Hermione every so often. There was no façade of deceit to hide these feelings from his friends; it was a practiced gesture.

Harry saw Ron look longingly out the window and could see the words form in his friend's mind. "I wish it would stop raining."

"The rain might be a good thing," Harry mused. Now that Wood had been gone for several years, his Quiddich team no longer had to practice non-stop. As the head of team, victory had come smoothly and easily to Harry and his new recruits.

Hermione looked at Harry with a puzzled look. "Why do you say that, Harry?"

Harry smiled wistfully, not answering. The rain was too beautiful for words.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "You know, Harry, these crêpes aren't that good. Are you okay?"

Harry nodded. "I just had a bad day."

"How so?" Hermione questioned gently, in her soothing tone. "Professor Snape didn't give us that much homework." She was trying to tease him out of his somber mood, he could tell. Still, it was some comfort.

"Must be the full moon." Hermione, who was not in Professor Trelawney's divination class, was unaware of the boring lesson on reading the signs on the moon and how it effected moods, but Ron suppressed his mirth and amusement, lest his mouthful of crêpe spray the rest of the Gryffindor table.

The plates had been cleared, and Harry, Hermione, and Ron walked up to the Fat Lady portrait. Settling into a long night of homework without the Weasly twins to amuse them, Harry felt a vague unrest and disturbance deep in his conscience. Unable to place what it was, he continued his Charms homework.

He looked over at Hermione, whose head was bent over Study of Muggles homework. Her pretty face was set with determination, and Harry felt his hear flutter. He quickly resumed his homework before Ron and the rest of the Gryffindors could see the flush rise to his face.

The full moon swelled over the lake, the light cutting through the haze and rain. The pale reflection danced on the lake and through the waves, a wholly unearthly light. Night flew in on swift wings, deathly thick black night. A quiet and exhaustion fell over the remaining students in the common room, yet Harry dutifully and diligently continued his homework, almost slowly so he could remain with Hermione. She seemed to disregard the fact that almost all the others had left.

The midnight hour approached, told by Hermione's watch, which trilled shrilly until she turned it off. Abruptly, she closed her books and for the first time that night, she acknowledged Harry and spoke: "Shouldn't you be getting upstairs by now, Harry? It's midnight." Her tone wasn't motherly, but was concerned and tranquil, and inhumanly soft.

He smiled, and shook his head. "Can I talk to you for a minute about something, Hermione?" He heard his voice say, not realizing what he had said.

She looked at him gently and kindly. "Anything, Harry. Whatever about?"

His voice choked, his mind raging. How could he have just done that? "What do we have for Defense against Dark Arts? I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention, and..."

She appeared indifferent. "Just start your notes on your mid-term paper about most useful defense."

"Thanks."

She smiled at him as she started up the spiraled staircase up to her dorm. "No problem."

"Um...Hermione?"

"Yes?" She asked pleasantly, still smiling. A silence filled the room, a pause as deep and slow as death. She continued up the stairs and disappeared into her dorm room.

"I love you."

Acknowledgments/Closing notes: Thank you to all reviewers and other Harry Potter authors who have provided me with inspiration. As far as I know, this is an original idea, but I have seen semi-similar things. This story was written as an original, consciously respecting other authors' works. Thank you for reading, love you all ^.^! ~ Feather

Disclaimers: I do not claim to own Harry Potter, any related copyrighted works, etc.


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